


A Rhyme So Sublime

by TallFlower



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bad Poetry, Cute, F/F, Fluffy Ending, Funny, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romantic Comedy, Second-Hand Embarrassment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26212915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TallFlower/pseuds/TallFlower
Summary: With nothing but her heart, her harp, and her 7 Charisma stat, Yasha sets out to express her love to Beauregard Lionett using an unexpected method; poetry.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 7
Kudos: 64





	A Rhyme So Sublime

That evening, _The Dirty Duck_ was in full swing. Lively conversations swirled in the air, mixing in with the polluted cloud of cigar smoke and the overwhelming smell of alcohol. The atmosphere alone made Yasha Nydoorin's head spin, so she stayed steadfast on her stool by the bar. The jug of ale in front of her stood untouched.

Caleb sat beside the barbarian, his eyes scanning over a small piece of parchment. The paper was lined with creases — the lines had become almost fluffy after constant folding and unfolding. Her scrawl was heavy, small, as neat as she could manage. 

It was slightly damp to the touch, weathered in the last couple of days. The Mighty Nein had blown into town due to the storm, flying into _The Dirty Duck_ like leaves in gale-force winds. The rain and wind had died down, thankfully, and Yasha was able to salvage her little scraps of writing. 

They weren't much, she knew that, but she had been practising for weeks. And she believed this to be her best work thus far. Even though she had asked Caleb for the critique, Yasha still felt the prickling of embarrassment as he read silently. Her words and emotions were being dissected, being judged by their merit as 'art'. 

Yasha hadn't been brought up as a creator. Sometimes she felt as though all she knew was to destroy. But… she wanted to try.

To distract herself, she glanced over to the rest of the Mighty Nein, who were gathered together around a dartboard. 

Sharing the long velvet-lined couch, both Caduceus and Jester watched the game unfold while sipping their tea. Veth was leaning against the table, arms crossed over her chest. Fjord stood in front of the board, a dart in his hand, his face contouring as he eyed up his target. 

"Careful. You don't want to miss," Veth teased as his arm swayed forwards and backwards, feeling the motion. 

"I'm not going to miss," Fjord assured. 

"Good, good. Splendid to hear. Because it would be very embarrassing if you did miss it. And I know how you take these things to heart."

His eyes never left the board. "Oh, do I?"

"Not that I blame you! You've had terrible luck with games. And during battles. And trying to talk to people. In fact, your bad luck is almost magical." She flashed him a wicked smile, taking a sip of her drink. "One wrong move, and you could send that thing flying out the open window."

"The only one open is behind him," Caduceus pointed out, frowning as he jabbed a thumb in the window's direction. 

Veth shrugged. "Listen, he has a gift for fjucking up." 

The firbolg opened his mouth but paused. Replaying memories in his mind. He subsequently gave a slight nod, lifting the teacup to his lips. "You've got me there." 

"Don't let her psych you out, Fjord," Jester whispered, covering the side of her face even though her voice was loud enough for Yasha to hear. "You're great."

If Fjord was flustered by any of this, he didn't reveal it. "Trust me, I'm not that intimidated by a woman who has to stand on a table to play this game."

There was a sudden screech of wood against stone. "Listen here, little green man—" Veth began to storm over to him, but was quickly scooped up by Caduceus. 

He held her up off the ground, bridal style. "No violence today," he told her as she struggled and thrashed in his arms. 

Yasha heard Veth's cries, demanding "orc's blood", and the chorus of laughter that followed. But as the scene played out, she noticed someone was missing. Her eyes darted around the room, even looking over her shoulder to spot a hint of deep blue and jade. 

She found Beauregard by the stage. She was amongst the bar's lively patrons, sitting backwards in a chair. Her chin was resting on the top rail and her legs straddling either side of the back post. Her hair wasn't tied up tonight; instead pooling around her brawny shoulders and down her back, covering her elaborate tattoo.

Despite how the stage looked like it was on the brink of collapse under their weight, the musicians fearlessly performed. Each stroke and breath seemed improvised, the music directing them from one note to the other. It flowed out of them like an audible piece of their souls. 

_I wish I was able to do that,_ Yasha thought to herself, feeling the weight of her harp strapped to her back. She knew she could never stand on that stage and perform. 

Through the smoky haze, Yasha noticed Beau's hand flicking in the air. As if she were conducting them with her index finger. Her foot tapped along with the enthusiastic rhythm of the song, eyes partially closed. 

In the centre of the dancefloor, there was a circle of women — and unlike the other patrons, they at least looked like they knew what they were doing. They moved like water transformed by music, flowing in graceful arcs, limbs in constant motion, weaving in and out… and of course, Beau got off her chair and staggered right up to them, grinning from ear to ear. 

"Hey, got room for one more?" Beau asked them, sliding up beside a lithe elven woman wearing a red dress and a flower crown on top of her head. 

The elven woman let out an enthusiastic "Of course!", and the group slowed down their movements for her. Beau examined them all for a beat, then her arms and legs carefully mirrored her dance partners'. 

If there was a fumble, she would merely laugh. And, man, Beau had the loveliest laugh. First, she would let out her little wheeze, lean forward a bit, and then let out a breathless chuckle. Her hand, balled into a fist, would always try to cover her mouth. But she could never hide it. 

Beau's laughter was always a stone in a stagnant pond, sending out ripples around the Mighty Nein, and this group was no different. It radiated outwards through the other dancers, causing them to laugh as well.

"Fuck! I meant to do that!" Beau playfully shouted after stomping at the wrong beat. 

In her inebriated state, Beauregard could not match their grace and fluidity. She probably couldn't walk in a straight line. But that didn't thwart her. She was far too bold, far too brave. She was always so willing to learn, so ready to _try_ —

"Yasha?" 

The voice knocked her out of her hypnosis. Yasha's hands jerked forward in surprise, swearing when her knuckle tipped off her drink. She quickly grabbed it before it tipped over. Ale splattered onto the counter, pooling around the circumference of the jug.

She looked over to Caleb. "Yes?"

He blinked for a moment before raising the paper. "I'm finished."

"Oh. Right, right." She straightened her back. "And… um… how did you… what do you think?"

At this, she noticed Caleb wince. "It's a little, ah, a little rough around the edges," he said. "I decided to not edit it." 

In her chest, she felt her heart sink. "Because it belongs in the bin. I knew it…" She shook her head, closing her eyes and reminding herself how foolish she was. "I'm sorry for wasting your time. I shouldn't have— I'm not even good at talking to people, I should have known I wouldn't be good at this."

Before she could rise out of the chair, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

"This is your first time writing poetry," Caleb told her. "Of course it's a bit unrefined. But it comes from the heart. _Your_ heart. Things like that don't need to be 'fixed', that's why I didn't touch it. They just come easier through practice. In other words; we all start out a bit shit at things, then we get a bit less shit as time passes." 

Yasha couldn't help but snort. "Will you help me be less shit at this?" she asked him.

"I would be honoured to have you as a student," Caleb said, flashing her a small smile. "We'll start whenever you're ready." He then lowered his voice; "And if you want my advice outside of academics… I think you should tell her about your feelings."

Her throat suddenly became dry. "Tell who?"

"I don't need to tell you who." With that, the wizard stood up and walked over to the others, exclaiming, "How the fuck did Fjord stab himself with a dart?" when he reached them. 

Her shoulders sank. _Yeah. I walked into that one,_ she thought to herself, feeling a sigh escape her lips. Her fingers thrummed against the sticky wood of the counter, instinctively gnawing at her lip. 

Yasha never thought herself as brave. Sure, she was strong. Sure, she could take a hit. Sure, she could slay a monster. But she didn't believe battle took bravery. It was muscle memory. Just like the dancers in the crowd, Yasha knew the rhythm of a fight. 

Courage implied feeling the cold tendrils of fear seep through your skin, into your bones, and to stand tall despite it. No, her blood never ran cold; instead, she felt it _boil_.

She bowed her head. _Zuala was always the brave one. Not me._

Hearing Beauregard's laughter pierce through the tavern made her look up again. The monk was twirling in the middle of the circle, clapping her hands above her head. Her cheeks were flushed red, stretching across her nose. Her smile was as bright as stars.

Yasha's eyes finally slid away from Beau, settling on the stage behind her.

 _… But I can try._


End file.
